


Red in His Ledger

by Tyloric



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Clint Feels, Clint Needs a Hug, Community: avengerkink, Gen, Hopeful Ending, PTSD, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyloric/pseuds/Tyloric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from the kink meme: "Clint and Coulson weren't married, weren't dating or sexing or even attracted. But they were still very close, as handler and asset, and Clint still takes Coulson's death- in an attack he planned and executed- very badly.</p><p>Bonus points if the inevitable mandatory counseling actually helps, at least to some degree."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red in His Ledger

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm not very good at angst, and this is my first time dabbling into the Avengers fandom. But this prompt was just too good to pass up. I hope I did it justice.
> 
> My research about PTSD was quick and dirty.

Clint dreams of blood and sapphire chains. He dreams of being trapped behind a window, desperately trying to beat against the glass with all his might, but the chains hold him back. He dreams of his hands drawing back the string of his bow, arrows piercing the flesh of his comrades. Clint dreams of fire, of war, of a suffocating darkness.  
  
He dreams that he’s standing in front of Phil Coulson’s grave.  
  
Clint always wakes up sweaty and out of breath, feeling as if the walls are closing in on him. Sometimes he even wakes up screaming.  
  
-  
  
Clint knocks on the door that says Eric Bauer (Psychologist), which is followed shortly by someone shouting to come in, which he does after a moments reluctance.  
  
The man is sitting at a desk on the far side of the room, facing the wall. He is shorter than Clint, though not by much, with light brown hair that is cut short, with reading glasses sitting on his nose. Behind the desk there are two chairs facing a glass coffee table, and behind that there is a medium length white couch. Clint immediately resolves to not lie down at any point.  
  
The man looks at Clint with his eyebrows raised before offering a surprisingly genuine smile when he recognizes who it is. “Agent Barton,” he says, but it’s not a question.  
  
“Dr. Bauer?” he asks.  
  
“Or Eric, if you like,” the man says politely.  
  
He nods sharply. “Here as ordered, sir.”   
  
Bauer gives him a funny look. “Please, come in.”  
  
Clint does, shutting the door behind him. He stands awkwardly in front of it, not sure what to do with himself, holding his hands behind his back in an at-ease stance.  
  
Bauer smiles again, amused. “Take a seat.”  
  
Clint gives another nod before making his way over to the back of the room. He briefly considers taking one of the chairs instead of the couch but decides against it, thinking that petty behavior like that might only prolong his stay here.  
  
He sits on the couch near one of the arm rests. He tries to look as relaxed as possible, sinking as far as he can into the fake leather, spreading his legs apart slightly. Clint has always been good at showing people what they want to see-- or used to be-- or still is? Whatever.  
  
Bauer is reading him, there is no other way of saying it -- Clint knows when he’s being studied -- looking as if he wants to say something. He apparently decides against it, grabbing a folder that can only be about Clint, along with a legal pad and pen. He sits in the chair that is directly across from Clint.  
  
“So, Clint,” he starts. “How are you?”  
  
Clint shrugs. “I’m fine.”  
  
“Good to hear,” Bauer says. Clint has to push back a flare of irritation. “What brings you in today?”  
  
“As I said, sir. I was ordered.”   
  
Bauer half smiles, raising an eyebrow. “Okay. Why were you ordered?”  
  
He shrugs again. “Doesn’t it say in that folder of yours?” He asks, almost accusingly. “Sir,” he adds after a pause.  
  
“I have the official version, yes. I’d like to know why you think you’re here.”  
  
Clint narrows his eyes and thinks for a moment. “Will you tell me what’s in that report if I do?”  
  
Bauer raises his eyebrows, surprised. Then he lets out a light chuckle. “Alright, Clint-”  
  
“Barton,” he interrupts without thinking.  
  
There is a second of awkward silence, but then Bauer nods in understanding. “Alright, Agent Barton. You tell me why you think you’re here and I’ll tell you what’s in this folder.”  
  
Clint digests this before speaking again. “I’m not sleeping well, sir.”  
  
“And why’s that?”  
  
He hesitates. “Bad dreams.”  
  
Bauer scribbles something down on his legal pad. Clint notes how Bauer is deliberately keeping it angled in a way that Clint can’t see what he’s writing.  
  
Bauer looks at him again when he’s done writing. “What do you dream about, Barton?”  
  
Again he hesitates. A small part of Clint knows that that’s not like him, that he is always efficient and precise, but he’s making a conscious effort to ignore it. “New York, sir,” he says finally, and it’s true.  
  
Bauer apparently sees right through him, though. “But that’s not all, is it? What else do you dream about Barton?” He asks, trying to sound gentle.  
  
Clint’s face hardens and his shoulders tense a bit. Suddenly he’s running down corridors towards the control room, firing an arrow into a SHIELD agent’s neck with merciless precision. He face shows no remorse, just a passive indifference. But on the inside he’s screaming.  
  
For a moment Clint forgets where he is. His eyes zero back in on Bauer’s, but he doesn’t say anything. His throat suddenly feels very tight.  
  
Bauer is looking at Clint in a way that Clint hates. He knows that look, Tasha gives it to him all the time. Bauer is trying to figure him out, trying to get inside his head, to _understand_.   
  
He’s in no mood.  
  
Clint clears his throat, trying to find his voice again. “What’s in the folder?” He says, surprised at how angry he sounds. That voice in his head is shouting at him to pay attention, but he continues to ignore it.  
  
Bauer doesn’t say anything and just continues to watch him. Clint is surprised that he can’t tell what the doctor is thinking just by looking at him. He’s never had that problem before. Clint wonders if he’s that off his game or if Bauer is just that good. He decides to not pursue either train of thought, certain that neither of them will lead him anywhere good.  
  
The other man breaks eye contact with him and Clint feels some anxiety that he didn’t know was there uncurl from his chest. Was he really intimidated by Bauer? No, Clint thinks. He could kill this man before Bauer was even able to get out of his chair. It would be easy, too.   
  
The thought terrifies him.  
  
Bauer flips the folder open and begins to recite what it written. “Agent Barton has been displaying increasing signs of irritability and severe exhaustion. He has been uncooperative with all handlers, many of which have described his attitude as insubordinate. Barton has also begun showing aggression, of which recently turned physical. Barton attacked Agent Natasha Romanov, who quickly subdued him.” Bauer turns to Clint, looking impressed in a sarcastic kind of way. “And those are just the cliff notes.”  
  
“Who wrote that report?”  
  
“Director Fury.”  
  
Of course he did. Clint snorts for lack of a better response.  
  
“So, not just trouble sleeping,” Bauer says.  
  
“If you say so,” Clint says noncommittally. “You’re apparently the expert on crazy.”  
  
Bauer laughs, and Clint doesn’t like that it’s actually a pleasant sound. He has a deep, throaty laugh that you can’t help but smile at, and Clint doesn’t feel like smiling, so he bites the inside of his cheek.  
  
“Yes, I suppose I am,” Bauer replies.   
  
Clint’s lips twitch despite himself.  
  
“So,” Bauer continues. “Tell me about the incident with Agent Romanov. As I understand it, you two are very close.”  
  
Clint narrows his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
Bauer gives him that face again. Clint almost has to turn away. “Why not?”  
  
Clint takes a deep breath. “Because I don’t want to.”  
  
“I understand that. But why?”  
  
“Doc-”  
  
“Why, Agent Barton?”  
  
“Because she turned her back on me!” The words are coming out of his mouth before he even realizes. He’s shouting, he’s angry, but Clint doesn’t know why.  
  
They’re standing in what’s left of Stark tower, Tony Stark talking about how they should go get shawarma. Tashsa pulls Clint off to the side. Phil is dead, she says. He can’t find his voice for several minutes, but when he’s does he’s shouting. Why did she wait so long to tell him? What the hell is wrong with her?  
  
A month later she’s coming up to him, telling Clint that she’s worried about him. He doesn’t listen. Tasha keeps trying to talk to him. He keeps walking away. When she comes up and says that she’s let director Fury know that’s she’s worried, has listed out her concerns. He’s moves without thinking. Clint goes for her throat, suddenly wanting only to wrap his hands around her and squeeze. If he had been thinking clearly he would have remembered that Tasha has always been better than him close up. She’s quick and uses his own momentum to get him on the ground, pinning him. He’s yelling, telling her that she’s a bitch, that he wants nothing to do with her. Clint tells her she’s a god damn traitor, that he should have killed her when he had the chance.  
  
Both of them are stunned into silence at his words, Clint regrets them immediately. Then Tasha hits him and he wakes up in the hospital wing, restrained.  
  
Clint deflates, suddenly feeling very exhausted. “I’m... sorry about that,” he says weakly.   
  
Bauer just shrugs, looking completely unfazed.  
  
Now that Clint has said it outloud, has organized those thoughts, he realizes what a load of horseshit they are. “That’s... not right. I...” he pauses. “I don’t know why I did what I did.”  
  
The doctor hums. “Don’t you?”  
  
Clint’s anger flares again. He forces it back. He’s better than this.  
  
“It’s my fault,” and where did that come from? Bauer looks as surprised as he feels. “Everything that happened. All of it. It’s my fault.”   
  
Bauer closes the folder and sets it and his legal pad down on the table. He leans back in his chair and looks at Clint with a small smile on his face. “Tell me,” he says simply.  
  
Clint feels tired, so he lies down on the couch. Might as well just get it all out in the open, right? Balls to the wall and such.  
  
“He was in my head.”  
  
“Who was?”   
  
“Loki. He took everything I was, everything I am, and he twisted it, twisted me.” Clint fights back a surge of emotion. He feels exposed and wishes he was somewhere up high. “And I remember all of it. I killed my friends, doc. I...” He stops.  
  
“Keep going, Clint,” Bauer says very gently.  
  
“I’m... I’m the reason Agent Coulson is dead, sir.” It’s strange, but he feels as if his chest isn’t as heavy anymore.  
  
There is a long stretch of silence and Clint can feel Bauer looking at him, but he can’t bring himself to look back. He just stares at the white office ceiling.  
  
“You impress me, Clint,” Bauer says suddenly. Clint looks at him then, eyebrows raised.  
  
Clint wonders if he looks as confused as he feels. “Sir?”  
  
The doctors eyes are fond. “You are amazingly self aware. You have made the same progress in," he glances at his watch, "fifteen minutes that takes many weeks. That says to me two things: you're in a great deal of pain, but also that you honestly do want to get better.”  
  
Clint leans back, draping an arm across his eyes. “I’m just tired of all this shit, doc. Just so... tired.”   
  
“Then you should rest.”  
  
He tenses. “I don’t like the dreams.”  
  
“There are people out here in the real world who want to help you, Clint.” He can hear the smile in Bauer’s voice. Clint suddenly finds it very comforting. “You just have to let them.”  
  
“Thanks... Eric.”  
  
“My pleasure.”  
  
He feels like a child for falling asleep on his shrinks couch, but he’s far beyond caring. He’s broken, he feels it, he sees it. He’s got red in his ledger. It won’t be easy, but Clint hopes that maybe he’ll be able to make amends.  
  
-  
  
Clint dreams of the last time he spoke to Phil, the tail end of the conversation.  
  
Phil is giving him the face that means _You’re an idiot, but I like you anyway_. He was smiling and Clint wishes he could remember what he had said to make him do so.  
  
The Tesseract is glowing behind him. Clint used to think it was kind of beautiful.  
  
Phil pats him on the shoulder, a gesture between friends. “Stay sharp, Barton.”  
  
Clint nods. “Always, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts and criticisms (and kudos!) are always welcome.


End file.
